DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, FOX does. This is another story that's been collecting dust for over a year now. I revamped it and changed the fandom and actually finished it, for once.Warnings are: minor swearing, consensual underage sex, exhibitionism and voyeurism (doesn't happen but is obviously implied.)

xxxxXxxxx

"Remember that one time that we had webcam sex when I was away at theatre camp for two weeks last summer and you were stuck at home, sexually frustrated and bored, and you looked so hot jacking yourself off on your computer chair?"

Kurt looks up from his book, mouth open in surprise as he stares at where Blaine is sitting on the floor a few feet away. His mouth forgets how to work properly for a few seconds so that he ends up looking like a dying fish as he tries to figure out a way to channel his intense repulsion and anger and that stupid, betraying surge of arousal. He looks at Blaine's open, eager expression and manages to splutter out, "Excuse me?"

He remembers webcamming with Blaine on several occasions, but none of them involved anything of that caliber. The raunchiest thing that Kurt can think of had been when he had gone to strip off his overshirt one time and his undershirt had come with, exposing his chest for the barest of seconds.

"Okay, now I know that didn't happen," Blaine says quickly, hoping to sidestep a confrontation, "but think about how hot it would be if it did, Kurt." He sets his own book down and moves to kneel at Kurt's feet, hands on the knees of the boy in front of him, eyes turned on to full puppy mode.

Kurt, never one to have the willpower or aloofness to resist Blaine, sighs and says reluctantly, "Well, yeah…" It's a foreign aspect to him, and he's especially never considered exhibitionism as high up on his list, but this is Blaine proposing this idea.

Blaine's many stupid, ill-planned ideas—the Gap Attack, sexual positions that proved to be impossible or too much to handle, no matter how limber Kurt was from dance and Cheerios—just made Kurt love him all the more and lead him to do stupid things like say "yes" to such an inane proposal like this. He was impulsive; Kurt respected that.

Blaine brightens up considerably. "So what I'm saying is we should do it. Together. On a webcam for everyone on somewhere like, oh, say… Stickam."

Words seem to fail Kurt again and he can only stare at Blaine like he's grown two heads or just asked him to jack off on the freaking internet. When his voice does decide to return from its hiatus those are the exact words he gets out. "You're asking me to jack off in front of internet users?" Well, similar words.

Blaine is wholly unfazed as he waves his hand dismissively. "No, I'm asking you to jack me off in front of internet users. And I'll totally do the same for you, you know I will. And maybe we could get some fingering in too, 'cause lots of people like to watch that—"

"Blaine!" Kurt barks, feeling heat rise up quickly, coloring his cheeks. "Blaine, honey," he says, gentler when he sees his boyfriend start a little at the sharpness of his voice, "we have only had sex three times, one ending with you coming too early and one ending with me having a bruised tailbone and a reluctancy to come within five feet of you for a week. One out of three is not a good number to go on when you want to put on a show."

Blaine's pout and puppy-dog stare get heavier. "But Kuuuuuurt"—Kurt seriously hates when Blaine gets that tone of voice—"it's an adventure. Think about it. We could become wank material for so many people."

Kurt raises an eyebrow delicately and gently pushes Blaine's hands off of his knees. "And that's supposed to encourage me?"

"Actually, yeah," Blaine admits, shrugging his shoulders as he lets his hands fall down to his thighs. "After that I got nothin'."

Kurt gives a heavy sigh, looking from his walls to his vanity to his bed before finally back down to Blaine who looks as adorable as ever in a blue cardigan and black shirt. His hair is full and curly, tumbling into his eyes, and his skin has a bronzed, sunkissed glow to it. Kurt zeroes in on the smattering of freckles across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose and he doesn't try to tamp down the smile he feels coming on.

Blaine senses Kurt cracking and grins, saying, "So you'll do it?"

Kurt wants to say no. He wants to tell Blaine that he'd prefer to keep the intimate details of their private life private. He'd blushed and stammered and fumbled his way through their first few times and now that they were more comfortable with each other he didn't want to retrogress all the way back to that.

But somehow everything always comes back to this is Blaine; he's never led you astray before. It's unfortunately true and Kurt knows, deep down, that Blaine will never suggest anything that he knows will embarrass or hurt Kurt in any way. He must know something that Kurt doesn't.

"Jeez, yes, fine," Kurt finally says, continuing to smile at Blaine's excited squeal and tight hug even though he feels like he's just signed his very own death certificate.

xxxxXxxxx

This is such a mistake, Kurt thinks the following night when he and Blaine are alone in the house, Burt and Carole out on a movie-dinner date and Finn hanging out with Puck. I'm so stupid to agree to this. It's all Blaine's fault. I can't resist those charming good looks. He watches as Blaine scurries around, setting up the webcam on the top of Kurt's computer monitor, balancing it precariously on the thin plastic ledge.

Were this many butterflies healthy? Kurt feels like the little space behind his belly button has been invaded with fluttering, crawly things that are steadily threatening to burst forth in a shower of anxiety. It's not even that big of a deal, he tries telling himself even though it so, so is.

It's just the internet. The common adage is as goes, after all: "The internet is for porn." He and Blaine would just be another blip on the radar of attractive teenage boys fooling around with each other. But what if they don't think I'm attractive? What if I'm too… too pale, or—or my body sucks or something compared to Blaine's, because it really does…

He doesn't notice that he's massacring the hem of his shirt until he feels Blaine's fingers close around his, gently prying them from the fabric. Kurt looks up and meets those adoring eyes, manages to breathe and swallow and actually function when Blaine is close to him.

"I'm nervous," he blurts out before he can stop the flood of words.

"We don't have to do this," Blaine says, twining their fingers as he brushes his nose against Kurt's, sending a swarm of butterflies on a flurry for a completely different reason. His breath is cool and minty, like the Extra gum he always chews. "If you're really uncomfortable with it we can just watch a movie. Or Gossip Girl. I know you have a secret fetish for it."

Kurt playfully shoves at his shoulder in response but feels his nerves calm down considerably with Blaine touching him, reassuring him like he always does. Even if this will be on the internet and god knows where else, if anywhere else, Kurt's doing it with Blaine, for Blaine.

He shakes his head and presses their lips together for a brief second or two before saying, "Blaine, I was born to be on camera."

Blaine laughs, says, "Of course," and goes to turn on the webcam before being stopped by Kurt, who touches him gently on the shoulder and moves to do it himself, adjusting the angle and settings with practiced ease from his and Blaine's many webcam nights during school weeks.

As Kurt's repositioning the camera for the tenth time Blaine gets behind him, pressing up against his backside as he runs his hands over Kurt's thighs, between his legs, over his groin. Kurt doesn't stop the moan that comes forth as he presses back against Blaine.

"We only have five viewers. Maybe we need to up the ante." Blaine grabs Kurt's bicep, and, ignoring his sputtering protests about manhandling, spins him around and presses their mouths together, grinding his hips into Kurt's. He tangles his hands in Kurt's hair, pulling and tugging the strands just the right way he knows to make him moan.

"God," Kurt breathes, his eyes wide and his hair mussed. He can't even be bothered to admonish Blaine about the current state of his hair, not when he's standing there looking like that, like sin in human form with his curls sticking up at odd places, mouth parted and Snow White-red, looking more rumpled than Kurt's ever seen him.

Kurt really, honestly can't believe that he's letting Blaine rub his cock as he checks for potential viewers, doesn't have the heart to tell him that these are Diesel jeans and if he comes in them—which is rapidly becoming a possibility if Blaine keeps flicking his wrist and pulsing his fingers like that—this little show will be over faster than Blaine can say medium drip.

He doesn't have the heart to say any of this because he can't. He can only clutch onto Blaine's shirt like he's going to collapse into boneless goo any second and moan when the pressure gets particularly intense.

Kurt gasps and lets out a small groan when Blaine slides his hand swiftly and roughly between his legs before moving back to squeeze Kurt's ass through his jeans. Blaine leans down toward the computer screen, the white-blue glow highlighting the contours of his face, making a triumphant noise as the viewers jump from ten to twenty-three.

"They love us," Blaine says as he leans up to recapture Kurt's mouth, cupping his jaw with hands gentler than the flash of his tongue and nip of his teeth. "You're a natural, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt blushes and is immediately glad for the dim, recessed lighting his room is currently in. He takes the hem of Blaine's shirt in his hands and tugs upward until it's up and off, the dog tags that Blaine usually wears glinting silver against his dark skin.

"What do you want to do?" Kurt asks softly, remembering Blaine's words the previous day about handjobs and fingering and tries not to let his blush deepen.

Blaine looks up at him through thick, dark lashes, large palms warm against the skin of Kurt's hipbones where he has his shirt rucked up. Blaine says, with his voice lower and stickier with lust than Kurt's ever heard it, "I want you to fuck me."

Kurt blinks in shock and forgets for a moment that they're supposed to be putting on a show, nearly misses Blaine undoing his button and zip as he blinks again and says, "I—what. Me?"

He drops to his knees faster than Kurt thought possible and wastes no time in tugging down Kurt's briefs to join with his pants. Kurt looks down, forgets there's a webcam and forgets that there are people watching them, choosing to focus only on Blaine and the wet, warm heat of his mouth.

"You're a man obsessed," he gasps out when Blaine hollows his cheeks and makes the slow slide back up. He tangles his fingers in Blaine's hair and tugs, shivering at the moan that goes straight through to his very core.

"What, with your cock?" Blaine quips cheekily as he sits back on his heels and smiles impishly up at Kurt. "Then yes, I am a man obsessed."

"God, you're such a cockslut," Kurt responds, more in the heat of the moment than anything, and immediately snaps his mouth shut, wondering if maybe he's gone too far because that was definitely not him. However, he feels more than hears Blaine's positive reaction to the word in the form of a low, throaty moan as he takes more of Kurt's cock in his mouth, leaving Kurt to wonder how the hell he got so lucky to find a boyfriend with an almost nonexistent gag reflex.

"Blaine," Kurt breathes, hips twitching forward of their own accord, eyes glued to the slide of his cock between Blaine's lips, the sharp bursts of breath and oh god Blaine is palming himself through his jeans and Kurt whimpers, repeats "Blaine, Blaine" until the boy in question slides off again, tongue trailing up the underside of Kurt's cock with just enough pressure.

When Blaine arches his eyebrow expectantly, not bothering to wipe the saliva off his chin, Kurt can only say, "Clothes. Off. Now."

He struggles a bit with his jeans and boxers, remembers just in time that he still has shoes and socks on, and by the time he straightens up, rumpled clothes in hand, Blaine is already naked. Kurt follows the lines of his body appreciatively, making a little motion with his hand to indicate that they still had an audience—the numbers of which surely have had to gone up, Kurt idly thinks as he deposits his clothes on his bed before walking back over to Blaine.

His hands flatten over the dip of Blaine's shoulders, across his appropriately-furry chest, the bumps of his abs before Kurt dances his fingers along the top of Blaine's hands, sliding up along the toned arms before stopping to cup his jaw. Blue-green meets hazel and Kurt gives him a little secretive smile before saying, "You're so sexy and you're all mine. They only get to watch, see you take it like the cockslut you are."

Blaine swallows; his Adam's apple is bobbing and Kurt can tell that he's resisting the urge to pant like a dog. They kiss, slowly and languorously, tasting and mapping and feeling. Kurt shifts and feels Blaine's cock, hot and full, against his thigh. "You ready?" he asks even though he already knows the answer.

Really, he thinks, am I ready? He's never topped before, never once really thought about it, but he somehow loves the power of it. This time, it'll be him making Blaine moan and arch instead of the other way around. And that… He couldn't deny that the thought was definitely appealing.

There's no hesitation when Blaine nods. Kurt bends him over the desk without preamble, leaving to find the lube and condom and hearing Blaine offhandedly say, "Hmm, a hundred and sixty-three. Not bad, I think." Kurt laughs as he slicks up three fingers, tracing the first in cool slides around Blaine's pucker before slowly pushing in.

Blaine jerks at the touch, moaning as he says, "Wait. They said… They wanna see."

Kurt rolls his eyes but pulls Blaine flush against his chest, using his free hand to grip Blaine's cock and stroke every offbeat of his fingers, nudging Blaine's legs apart for a better view. Blaine pulls Kurt's face to his and their lips press together messily, their mutual moans being swallowed before they can reach the speaker of the webcam.

Kurt's just pushing a third finger in, his grip tight on the base of Blaine's cock, when he ears, "No, no, that's enough. Fuck me, Kurt," and sweet Jesus Blaine is practically mewling and suddenly not being in the tight heat of Blaine's body is almost too much for Kurt.

He pushes him back down, his clean hand insistent on Blaine's lower back. He rolls on the condom—might as well teach these stupid adolescents watching that yes, condom usage should be mandatory—and loses all thought as he slowly starts pushing in.

Kurt has never been the cliché, hackneyed type, but as soon as he bottoms out he can't help but gasp into Blaine's ear, "You're so tight."

He feels Blaine pushing back, saying, "Just move," his grip a white-knuckled one on the edge of the desk. Kurt watches the comments readily scroll across the box at the bottom of the screen now before and looks up at their box, taking a sharp inhale that doesn't exit his lungs.

Sure, he's seen Blaine's face during sex before, knows that he always looks beautiful, especially mid-orgasm, but this… This is something completely different, an expression Kurt's never seen before.

He looks the textbook, Merriam-Webster's dictionary definition of blissed out. He reacts to every movement that Kurt makes, his eyes half-lidded and mouth open enough to accentuate his labored breathing. His dog tags swing back and forth with his rocking movement, their cool metal striking his overheated skin, and Kurt realizes in this moment that he loves this boy, that this boy is all his.

The boy underneath him, whose back is quivering with desire, whose mouth can only murmur adulations about Kurt interspersed with melodic little gasps and moans as each drive of Kurt's hips, each different angle of Kurt's cock deep inside him bring him even closer to the edge.

Blaine swears and brings one hand down to grasp at his own cock when Kurt manages to find his prostate. Kurt can only gaze at him fondly, try harder to bring him off. He moves a hand from its grip on Blaine's hips down to wrap around Blaine's hand, fingers fitting into the little crevices between Blaine's.

"God," Blaine groans, head dropping down between his shoulders. It's like the webcam, the heated and encouraging words on the computer screen don't exist, like they never have. Like it's only them left in the world, wrapped in their heat and smell and taste and unwilling to ever disentangle from it. "I love you, too, Kurt."

Kurt pushes forward once, twice, before Blaine tenses under him and comes with a strangled moan, the muscles contracting around Kurt drawing him to the precipice before pushing him over mere seconds later.

Blaine lifts his head and looks into the lens, ignores the words of oh fuck that was so hot and how about letting the little twink bottom next time and gives the internet community a wide smile. "Thanks for stopping by. I love Kurt Hummel!"

The last part is rushed as he hits disconnect. He looks around, thankful that Kurt is busying himself with disposing of the condom and dampening a washcloth with warm water to clean them up with. Kurt pulls Blaine up into a deep kiss when he returns, running the warm cloth down the center of his chest. Blaine squirms happily and reaches a hand up to rub just below Kurt's ear, where he knows the other boy likes it.

"Thanks for doing that for me," Blaine says softly, taking the washcloth from Kurt's hand and beginning to wipe him down as well. "You're a fantastic top." He flashes Kurt that miles-wide smile of his again. Kurt giggles and hates his fair skin again for the blush that spreads entirely too quickly.